


Run, Boy, Run

by tragicamente



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Stanford Era, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-14 11:10:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/836244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tragicamente/pseuds/tragicamente
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Sam had gone to Stanford and there were no demons?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Run, Boy, Run

**Author's Note:**

> Written after S1, originally posted on LJ.

He doesn’t remember the first time Dean and him kiss, and he really thinks he should. It should be one of those things imprinted in his memory, one of those things he can think about during the ride out of town.

The greyhound stutters and bumps along the road, smelling stale and full of travellers who look worn out and edgy. As if the world hasn’t provided what they wanted, as if they’re unable to stop moving because they still haven’t found what they’re looking for yet. Sam presses his forehead against the window to feel the cold biting into his skin. Dean’s look of surrender is swimming in front of him, frozen in that moment. That moment as he waved Sam off to Palo Alto, eyes sunken in deep and Sam couldn’t look away.

He conjures up memories, trying to pinpoint where it all started. He remembers running together, breath puffing clouds in the cold morning air, muscles pumping hard and hot, moving in unison. He feels Dean’s lips against his, his hand on his cock, remembers the way the light hit his skin and made him golden and pink. He can feel the kitchen counter against his back as him and Dean make out, spaghetti hoops congealing in a bowl next to them, always listening for when the Impala might be in the driveway again. He can see Dean resting his chin on his shoulder as they look into the mirror together, teaching Sam how to shave. _Take it slow, Sammy, don’t want to cut yourself. It’s just like any other thing: assess the situation first._ Sam saw himself grin as Dean kissed him.

His life has been made up entirely of Dean, between sheets and in the backseat and walking in the warm, midday sun. The rough cushion of the bus seat scratches against his hands and its unfamiliar, he wants the slide of the Impala’s leather beneath his fingers. He wants Dean sitting next to him listening to his walkman, hand resting too far to Sam’s side, fingertips itching to touch him. But he can’t, he can’t stay with his drunken father, crushed by a sense of guilt about his mother’s death, looking at no future. So many times he’d whispered: _let’s run, Dean, let’s run away_. And Dean had looked sad, a little broken, the weight of burden in his face. _And who’ll take care of Dad, huh? He needs someone too._

That was when Sam realised he would have to do this alone.

Sam gets distracted around application time, lost in a flurry of forms and envelopes, sneaking out to buy stamps when he can. He feels bad lying to Dean when he goes to him at the garage and Dean asks him _whatcha do today?_ nothing waiting for Dean to kiss him. When he gets the acceptance letter for Stanford they fuck against the wall of the house, hidden behind trees that they used to climb when they were younger. Sam’s cock scrapes against the wall as Dean kisses his neck, takes him slow and careful and Sam comes fast enveloped in his brother’s love. Sam is grinning, giddy with the feeling that Dean loves him, even if he can’t say it. It is tinged with sadness as he knows it’s only a few more months that he can enjoy this, only a bit more and that is broken as they walk in and John is standing in the middle of the room, whiskey bottle in one hand. A letter in the other.

“What’s this?”

And Dean steps towards Sam instinctively. Sam’s heart breaks a little.

-

Stanford is huge, students winding around every corner and angle, talking and laughing and watching the sun move across the sky. Sam is gripping his timetable in one hand, holding lots of coloured sheets in the other unsure of what to do. He wishes Dean was with him. Dean would know what to do.

He’s still looking about him confused, searching for building 25 on the map when a boy comes up to him, cropped black hair and grey eyes.

“You lost?” he asks and Sam crinkles his eyes, looks apologetic.

“Afraid so. Where is building 25?” 

The boy leans in to look at the map Sam is holding. 

“Oh, you’re taking Foundation Law too? I’m on my way to 25, I’ll take you.”

His name is James, he’s lived in California all his life and he teaches Sam the ropes of getting in with the crowd, Sam learns of all the cliques that invariably inhabit all education facilities. Sam’s only friends with him for the first week and then he’s lost among the sea of people and they only nod to each other in lectures. 

Sam gets a new group of friends, among them Jessica. At first he doesn’t speak to her, she’s a friend of a friend who just keeps coming out with them. They all go to the beach together, the bar, hang out in the same café that serves good hot chocolate and an even better espresso. His friends find it funny when he smiles and says: hey, real coffee. They think he’s never had it before, and they’re kind of right, he thinks. Sam knows Dean would love this place.

Jessica is kind of like Dean. She tells him to call her Jess and she slaps his arm and makes him race her to places. He could win every time, but he lets her run ahead so that she looks back at him, smile wide and hair flying round her face. 

When they kiss for the first time, Sam knows he’ll remember it forever. She’s wearing red lip-gloss that tastes like raspberry and she slots neatly between his arms, all soft curves and pliant body. The waves crash behind them and a police car goes by. When she pulls away she looks at him oddly, as if she’s just thought of something. Sam wonders if she can taste Dean on him, if she can tell he’s been taught how to kiss before. He kisses her again, this time not surprised to not feel stubble grating against his chin.

-

He’s settled now. He gets up at 8, stumbles into the shower, eats a bowl of cereal and brushes his teeth. He gets the newspaper on the way to class, doesn’t read it until ten when he goes and gets coffee. Jessica presses her lips against the ink stains on his fingers.

“You’re always working so hard,” she says, as if it’s weird. Sam doesn’t really know what to reply to that, to him education is a luxury, not a chore. He loves the work, revels in it. Everyone wonders why he doesn’t seem happier about his high scores, why he doesn’t show off, calling his family – surely they’ll be proud? He wants to, badly. But the person he wants to call might not pick up, and that’s what he’s terrified of. 

Sam’s got so used to living his life in Stanford that when he sees the familiar sleek black shape rumble up the street for a moment he wonders who else would have that car. Then he’s sure it’s him, the scratch in the number plate he made when he first took it out for a drive. Dean’s the only one in the front seat. Jess is holding his hand and she’s asking what’s wrong as he stares at his brother’s face, as Dean just keeps looking back at him.

He looks down at Jessica who has her mouth open in a question. He can only see Dean in her eyes now though, he kisses her on the forehead quickly and says: I’ll see you later, okay? Before walking to the car.

He gets in without needing to be asked and Dean starts driving.

“Hi.” Sam says, feeling the familiarity sweep over him. The sound of the engine, the feel of the seats, Dean’s presence next to him – it’s all the same, but he knows it’s also different. He’s the one that changed it.

“How’s it going?” Dean replies, knuckles white on the steering wheel.

“Good. Uh, I’m in the top ten percent of my year.”

A smile breaks out on Dean’s face, “really?” he asks, looking over at him and Sam can feel the pride washing off him.

“Yeah,” he says, grinning too now because his brother is really here. He aches to touch him and he can tell Dean is feeling the same way. Dean pulls over, taps his fingers against his leg and Sam just leans over and kisses him. It’s uncomfortable over the gear stick but it feels glorious, Dean’s tongue pushing roughly against his, Sam threading his fingers in his hair.

“I missed you.” Sam breathes against Dean’s skin and Dean pushes him away, breath coming fast.

“I better take you back.”

Dean drops him off when he picked him up, Sam stares blankly for a second, unsure of what to do. Dean looks pained but then he turns to him and says: “I’ll see you tonight.”

Sam doesn’t go to lectures and when Jessica rings, he picks up on the second ring, her voice sounding high and shrill in his ear.

-

Dean comes back around ten, night is in full swing and students are already drunk. His leather jacket creates a certain line that Sam can recognise anywhere. He waits ten more minutes until he realises Dean isn’t going to ring the doorbell. 

When he opens the door Dean is standing there, gazing at his own hands. Jessica comes down the stairs and stands by his side.

“Who’s this?” she asks, looking between them, Sam wonders whether she can feel the static in the air. Dean looks her up and down and smirks.

“Didn’t know you had it in you, Sammy.”

Sam wonders why he feels so guilty, why it sounds like an accusation.

”Jess this is my brother Dean, Dean this is Jessica.”

“Your brother?” Jess asks, confused, but to her credit she recovers quickly, smiling widely and accepting.

“We’ll be back,” Sam says stepping outside before Dean has to make the decision of coming inside.

Sam tells him where to go; they drive to the beach and walk past various campfires dotted along the edge. Sam has the impulse to take his hand, to walk along the beach with Dean with the warm sea air washing over them. Dean bumps their shoulders.

”I guess I miss you too.”

Sam’s breath catches in his throat. He risks it and slides their hands together, entwining their fingers. Dean looks up at him, a little embarrassed and Sam can see a lifetime written in his eyes. Dean breathes in, preparing himself to say something. The salt in the spray of the water scratches at his skin.

“I want you to come with me.”

In his entire life, Dean has never asked Sam for anything, for as long as he can remember Sam was always taking. The image of his brother’s face as the greyhound pulled away comes back into his mind. He tries to imagine what kind of life they’d lead.

“Dad?” Sam asks.

“His liver gave out.” Dean says and Sam can’t even get angry, can’t even wonder when this happened and why he didn’t know because his father told him to never come back. His father told him he didn’t want anything to do with him. John still thought it was his fault Mary died, complications during childbirth. Sam believed it too for a while, until Dean told him that even if that were true, which it wasn’t, she would have wanted it that way. She would’ve wanted him to live.  
“I’m sorry.” Dean looks surprised.

“He talked about you.” 

The waves crashing against the beach are loud, roaring in his ears.

“Don’t.” Sam tightens his hold on Dean’s hand and pulls him towards him.

“Are you – ”

Dean nods. “We could, uh, we could set up somewhere nice. Somewhere different.”

Sam knows how much it costs him to say this, how much it cost him to even come here. Sam knows he abandoned him, but he wasn’t the one he wanted to leave behind.

“I wanted you to come with me.” He says and they start walking back to the car. His life before Stanford flickers before his eyes, rundown house and drunken father and in the middle of it all – Dean. Bright and safe and _his_. Then there is Jessica, blonde hair and pink-lipped smile, warm and in love. There’s Law, promising so much future. 

“I can’t, Dean. I can’t.” He chokes out, thinking of everything he sacrificed to come here. Dean takes a step back as if hit, he looks at the blue-painted houses, the white picket fences and Sam can tell he’s thinking of Jessica. He nods, once, as if he understands.

“I’ll see you, Sammy.”

Sam stands on the edge of the pavement, feet itching to follow as the Impala roars to life. It’s getting light, clouds rolling overhead and Sam thinks of golden fields and stuttered breaths. He remembers it, suddenly, the first kiss – odd and thrilling and when they were in a tree together, watching the sun rise. He’s been thinking about sacrifices, about his future, but he realises in that moment – Dean’s the one he sacrificed, to try this thing he had to cut him out of his life. He doesn’t want it that way forever and if it has to be a choice between Dean and Stanford. He can’t make the same mistake again. His heart gallops and Dean’s name rolls off his tongue. 

Sam tips forward slightly and then -

\- breaks into a run.


End file.
